there are unusual things here.



not really, it is just how you

see them, i think you have

nice things. antiquities, yet



you are used to seeing those

daily.



i like the way you finger them,

play, they will turn up another

day.



you see.



the lead soldiers are still standing,

lined up on the back of the

monopoly board.



the front small bedroom.

the importance of a partner/no partner.



answer me ?



when all around is singing,

why silence this?



the importance of anything

is relative, do not place

a value on something

that is not important.



ðɛːˈbʌɪ/ unimportant.



broaden the world.

a need to wipe it away.



a tear, a memory pinned,



until we repeat the instruction

to erase, replace, white wash.





the window smeared, is clean

again. with soap and sanctity



washed, aired, ready



for another day.

we lerned how to play,
one letter at a time or
they gets stuck.

badly.

he said the flames

came over the trees.



behind the buildings.

bombed the buildings.



so do not wonder why

i don’t play soldiers,

lay them down to die.



he says that i will not battle,

i am no good at it.

too peaceful. i can play

hospitals.

winding we hurry

to reach the top

climbing to a



safe place with hope



often the stars  are reflected below

we are artists without borders, we give and share,

not expecting anything.



in return we are part of it all, and pleasantly

accepted without judgement.



the journey is endless to join as desired.



i am a curator, a book about death in wales,

loosely bound, conceived by another



in memory.



ray johnson.



fluxus.